Shadow Girl::Book One: Who I Am
by xxFiRE FAiRYxx
Summary: Something is haunting Moira Riordan-Niall. It's calling out to her; Beckoning her to follow. Strange, scary things are happening, too. Can she stop it? *FINISHED*
1. chapter one: wiccan witch

**Shadow Girl**

**Book One: Who I Am**

[Chapter One: Wiccan Witch]

_Wake me up, wake me up inside…I can't wake up, wake me up inside…Save me, call my name and save me from the dark…_

I slapped the alarm clock off and lay in bed for a few minutes. _Another day, _I told myself. I made a face at my ceiling, then rolled off my bed.

I took a quick shower, then started towel-drying my hair in front of the mirror. The mirror in front of me showed a girl with dark hair and hazel eyes, a normal sight. But I'm nowhere near normal.

I'm a blood witch. I've known it forever. 

And so has everyone else. Ever since I used magick to transport myself out of a haunted house when I was six. Ever since I shattered a window in seventh grade by using my mind to slam it shut. Everyone knows I'm different. Everyone knows I'm a witch.

And you know what? I hate it. 

I'm tired of sticking out. I try to blend in, but everyone stares at me like I'm not human. I touched the pentacle hanging on a silver chain around my neck. It made me think of how the Nazis made Jews wear Stars of David on their coats. Proof that I'm Wiccan, hanging there where everyone can see.

But I can't bring myself to just take it off. My parents gave me this necklace when I was born, and they spelled it with protection, so their only daughter would be safe. It's a part of me, like being a witch is. You could say that my life is a Wiccan soap opera.

But anyway, I realized yesterday that I've been going about this blending-in thing all wrong. Up till now, I've been dressing myself in dark, neutral-color clothing, in hopes that I'd just disappear among the shadows. I should have known that it would only make me look like a Goth Wiccan witch.

So now I'm taking it in a whole new direction: If I want to blend in with the other girls at school, I have to dress like them.

I opened the bathroom cabinet and took out a bottle of hair gel. I squirted a small pool of the goopy pink stuff into the palm of my hand, and proceed to work it into my not-quite-dry hair. After my head was coated with the gel, I took out two brown paper towels I'd horded from the school bathroom and began scrunching my hair with them. The result was a new hairstyle of little waves. Little cute cheerleader-style waves.

I looked so different. Part of me wanted to douse my head with water and blow-dry it straight, like it should be. But I reminded myself of how I was alienated at school. I had to do everything to fit in. My sanity, at least, depended on it.

I walked out of the bathroom and into my room. Next: Phase Two of my mission. I slid back the door of my closet and yanked out an Abercrombie & Fitch shopping bag. I'd gone to the mall yesterday and spent all my birthday and Christmas money given to me by my mom's adoptive parents. Being Wiccan, my family and I don't actually celebrate Christmas, but Grandpa and Grandma Rowlands are sort of in denial about the blood witch thing. They have been since Mom was sixteen years old.

When I'd gone into Abercrombie & Fitch the day before, I was practically convinced that I was in way over my head. But one of the girls working there latched onto me, saying that I looked exactly like some girl on Dawson's Creek. I just blinked at her and let her pick out clothes for me.

Now I took the clothing out of the bag one by one. First was a light purple tube top. I still didn't know why I'd agreed to buy it; Along with my magick, I'd inherited my mother's lack of feminine curves. But this Abercrombie & Fitch girl was really persuasive. She said that the color accentuated my dark features, so I bought it. Over the tank top I put a darker purple button-down short sleeved stretchy shirt. I buttoned only the middle button, the way the girl had suggested. Then I put on the khaki skirt, which reached down to the middle of my shins. I slid on clunky tan sandals, which made me even taller than I already am. With my flat chest and freakish height, I slightly resemble that girl from The Princess Diaries. Except for the fact that I'm not the heir to the throne of a small European principality.

Oh, no. I'm the daughter of the Woodbane Princess of Belwicket. Ain't life grand?

Phase three of Mission: Makeover was my least favorite. I pulled a plastic bag full of makeup out of my desk drawer. My desk is covered with books about Wicca, books that I've been studying since I was ten. I'm fourteen now, and my four years of studying combined with the amazing power I was born with from my mother's side, Mom and Dad say that I can be initiated whenever I'm ready. Being a fully initiated witch means having complete control over your powers, and it's what most, if not all, blood witches train for their entire lives. Me, I'm not even sure I _want_ to be initiated. After all, being a blood witch was the reason why I'd become an outcast at school. 

And because I'd become an outcast, I was covering my face in makeup. I pulled out the concealer and realized, I really didn't have anything to conceal. I don't have pimples or any other kind of blemish. I simply ran it over my forehead and nose, then rubbed it in. I took the blush and the little cosmetics brush and lightly dusted my cheeks in a dark pink. Not too much, not too little. I bit my lip and held the liquid eyeliner in front of me. Putting any foreign objects anywhere near my eyes was not appealing. I screwed off the cap and leaned towards my full-length mirror, trying to not let my hand wobble too much…

I stabbed my eye with the eyeliner.

I cursed under my breath like crazy, then clomped back into the bathroom. Clomping is pretty much the only way to walk in sandals like those. I quickly flushed my eye out with water, then carefully wiped it dry without ruining my previous work. My left eye looked red and irritated. "Okay, no eyeliner," I whispered to myself. I quickly clomped back into my room and put on some lip gloss. I was ready for my day.

_Clomp, clomp, clomp. _The stupid shoes were already getting on my nerves. The stairs in my house lead directly into the kitchen, where my parents were sitting eating breakfast. I clomped down the stairs loudly, gaining both of their attentions. They blatantly stared; I guess I _really looked different._

I stumbled on the last few steps, grabbing the banister to keep from falling down completely. My parents simply raised their eyebrows at me, and I scowled back. Practically all of my school pictures show me scowling; I've never been a picture person. It freaks my grandparents out, just like the Wicca stuff does. Sometimes being around them makes me want to burst out in laughter.

"Good morning, Moira," my father said in his crisp British accent, while I clomped my way to a chair. My dad was born in England and moved here, to Widow's Vale, New York, when he was nineteen. He pulled a teabag out of his mug and strained it against his spoon. Dad doesn't drink coffee that much. I'm guessing it's the British thing.

Come to think of it, Mom doesn't drink coffee in the morning, either. Next to me, I could hear her pop open a can of Diet Coke. "Why can't you guys drink coffee like normal people?" I asked suddenly, with a hint of irritation in my voice.

My parents looked at me, then at each other. "Because I like tea," my dad answered.

"And I like Diet Coke," my mom added with a grin.

"As if this family couldn't get more weird," I muttered, picking at my Pop Tart. A minute later I could feel my mother's senses gently probing my mind. "Mom! Geez, get out of my head! Most mothers just _ask what's wrong, you know?!"_

Mom sat back in her chair, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry. Moira, what's wrong?"

Resent washed over me. "Nothing," I grumbled. My mother threw her hands up in exasperation and looked at my dad for help.

"Moira, love, you have to talk to us," Dad said in a rare, comforting voice. Usually he's businesslike and solemn.

"You're not gonna like it," I told him, inspecting my Pop-Tart carefully.

"School or boys?" Mom questioned.

"Wicca."

"What?"

I took a deep breath. "I'm tired of it," I told them. "Wicca has made me a total outcast at school, and I haven't had a real friend in forever. Everyone steers clear of the Wiccan Witch of Widow's Vale. And it's just really bugging me, and I know, 'you never knew it bothered me before,' but when I was a kid, I was like, I can levitate my bed, what the hell do I care if I don't have any friends? But things are different now." I took another breath. My mom's cat, Dagda, rubbed against my leg, giving me temporary comfort.

My parents were silent. I knew they were having a non-verbal conference with each other. Finally my dad spoke. "Listen, Moira, we understand that it must be hard for you…but you can't just quit being Wiccan. It's in your blood." 

"But can't I like, relinquish my magick or something?" I pressed.

"Having your power stripped from you is a horrible experience," Mom told me quietly. "Your father and I both have witnessed people being stripped of their magick, and it's painful to even watch."

"So I'm stuck with this curse forever?" I asked faintly.

"It's not a curse," Mom told me. "It's a gift, and I know it may not feel like it right now but sooner or later you're gonna see how lucky you are."

"Oh yeah, when I'm elected president of the Losers Club, I'll know just who to thank," I spat, grabbing my coat and backpack. "See ya." I walked out the door and clomped my way to high school.

*    *    *

Throngs of kids milled around Widow's Vale High School's campus when I arrived. I headed straight into the school; March weather is not my favorite. It's cold and dreary and just not nice. I opened my locker and shoved my jacket inside. I could see people staring at me, at what I was wearing. I felt like saying, __

"Well, look who's trying to fit in now." I turned to look into the clear blue eyes of Courtney Hartford. We used to be friends. But when I made her doll fly through the air in kindergarten, she swore I was a freak of nature and never spoke nicely to me again. It's not like I was trying to _hurt the Barbie. I just thought she'd be impressed. "If you're such a powerful little witch, why can't you give yourself some boobs?"_

"I was thinking about doing that," I said easily, "but I'm working on something that'll give you a brain. It takes a lot of time and effort to make up for what you're lacking, you know?" I brushed past her into my science room. 

I sat down, rearranging my books in my backpack just for something to do. Students were beginning to file in. 

A bunch of boys sat down at the table behind me, laughing and talking loudly to each other. They started talking a little quieter, and then Derek Boles sidled over and sat down next to me. "Hey there, Moira."

I tensed up a little. _Here we go again, _I thought. The guys in school always tease me, mockingly hit on me, coming at me with lines like _You've got me under your spell. _Please. It makes me sick. "What, Derek?"

Derek let his arm creep up around me. My anger flared inside. "How about you and me make a little magic?" he whispered in my ear.

I shoved him away. "Go to hell and get a life while you're there."

"Aw, c'mon, what's the matter?" Derek cajoled. He fingered my pentacle necklace. "You know, I've heard that Wicca is for dykes…"

I sat there trying to control my anger. I _hated his tone. One of my mother's aunts is gay,  and she's one of my favorite people. He had no right to say stuff like that._

Derek leaned towards me again. "Am I gonna have to teach you a thing or two?"

Suddenly a grin spread across my face. "How about _I teach __you a few things?" I asked him, leaning in real close. Then, I focused all my anger on his chair._

The chair shot away a few feet, then stopped abruptly. Derek was knocked off thanks to inertia, and the other boys behind us roared with laughter.

"Maybe that'll teach you not to mess with a witch," I told him, smiling triumphantly.

"M-Moira," Ms. Tanner stammered. "G-Go. Go to the principal's office." I resist the urge to smirk. I scare Ms. Tanner.

"Yes, ma'am!" I said cheerfully, hiking my red backpack onto my shoulder. I tossed my dark hair over my shoulder and clomped my way down to the principal's office.

Mr. Bradley Richter's office is practically my second home. Ever since the first day in school, when he called me down to discuss the rumors of my being a witch. When he had begun to go on about straightening things out because the idea of me having magickal powers was impossible, I'd leaned forward and blown out the candle on the desk. As he'd stared at me, I'd leaned back and concentrated hard on the wick of the candle until it had burst into flame. I'm a fire fairy; just like my mother, and her mother before her. I can still remember the way he'd yelped, like a puppy whose tail had been stepped on. 

Now I sat down in my usual chair, and Mr. Richter sat in his seat, looking back at me. "Miss Riordan-Niall--"

"Uh, sir?" I asked. "Shouldn't we be on a first-name basis by now?"

He gave me a look. "Fine. Moira--"

"Brad," I answered, smiling mischievously.

Mr. Richter slammed his hands down on his desk. I winced; guess it was a one-way first name basis. He then put his hands up to his head, rubbing his temples. "What are you in for now, Moira?"

"Derek Boles was sexually harassing me," I told him bluntly. "So…I kinda-sorta…gave him some low-altitude flying lessons."

"Oh, _Moira!"_

"Whaat? It didn't hurt him that bad!" I sat up a little straighter. "You should have heard him. And all I actually did was make his chair move. The Law of Inertia did the rest."

Mr. Richter sat with his head in his hands. He rubbed his temples, and I got the feeling that being around me gave him migraines. "Moira, you know as well as I do that there are a lot of people on the PTA and on the faculty that would like to see you kicked out of this school." He looked up at me. "Your…powers aren't something they're used to. They're afraid of it, and they want you gone because of it. And I have fought for you. I'm still fighting for you, in fact. I'm in your corner, Moira, but if you keep using your powers against the other students, it's a losing battle."

"I understand, Mr. Richter, but it's _hard," I told him. "People persecute me every day just because of who I am. And when I have the power to retaliate…"_

"You have to restrain yourself and be the better person," Mr. Richter said. He leaned back in his chair. "I'll treat this like it was a normal physical assault. You're suspended for two days, starting today. I'll call your mother and tell her you'll be waiting in the main office. And…" Mr. Richter gave me a slightly sympathetic look. "I'll call down Mr. Boles and have a word with him."

"Thanks." I carried my backpack out to the main office and sat down in one of the waiting chairs. Touching my wavy hair, I pulled a pen out of my backpack and twisted my hair into a bun with it. I swore to myself that I would never go to school looking like this again.

*  *  *

            The ride home with my mother was tense. She kept her eyes on the road, and her mouth was a thin line. I glanced up at her from time to time. Mom was really angry; I could tell. I could feel it.

            When we got home, I sat down on the couch and waited. Mom looked at me. "I don't understand, Moira," she said in a quiet voice.

            I stared back at her silently.

            "This morning you were ready to strip yourself of magick," she continued, her voice rising. "And then I get a phone call from Mr. Richter saying that you've used magick against another student?!"

            "It was in self-defense!" I protested, slapping the couch with my hands. "You should have heard the kid!"

            "I don't care, Moira!" My mother was screaming now. "Don't you understand that you can't risk getting kicked out of this school? The only other schools available are farther away and cost extra money for us to send you, and we don't _have _that money! Don't you understand that?!"

            "_You're _the one who doesn't understand!" I yelled back, shooting up to a standing position. "I have lived with being a freak of nature since the day I was born! I _hate _being a witch! I hate being your stupid daughter with your stupid powers! _I hate it!"_

            I ran past my mother, up to my room, and spelled my door closed. My own words echoed through my head, and I started hitting my closed door with my fists, yelling "Damn it!" over and over. I did it until my hands were bruised and I was choking on my own tears. I slid down to the floor and stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity.


	2. chapter two: messages

**Shadow Girl**

**Book One: Who I Am**

****

[Chapter Two: Messages]

            Two days later, I was sitting at the kitchen table, wishing I was in the other room with the rest of my parents' coven, Kithic. I know I'm going to sound hypocritical here, but I love going to circles. It's the feeling of belonging. But part of my punishment was missing circle. And when Sharon and Ethan Sharp's conceited twelve-year-old son agreed to keep me company, it became so severe that it's now _all _of the punishment. I was half-listening to Todd telling me about his football game. Imagine my astonishment when he told me he'd somehow made all of the touchdowns single-handedly. 

            "What are you reading?" Todd asked condescendingly. He craned his neck to try to see the book.

            "A book on medieval torture," I told him coolly. I only said that to scare him away; I was really just brushing up on my magickal herbs.

            "Girls shouldn't read so much," he said matter-of-factly. I gave him an annoyed look. "It'll make their pretty little faces get thinking creases."

            "Right now you're giving me pissed-off creases," I muttered, trying to concentrate on the book.

            Todd grabbed my book and pulled it away from me. I looked up at him, wondering how stupid this kid was. "I've never seen your room."

            "Well, that's nice," I said, reaching for my book.

            Todd pulled it away again. "I want to see your room."

            I just looked at him. "Up the stairs, last one on the left, touch nothing or die."

            "No." Todd leaned into me. "I want you to take me up there."

            I narrowed my eyes. "Why?"

            "Because…I wanna get to know you a little better."  Todd gave me a bad imitation of a seductive smile.

            I snapped my arm out so my finger was an inch from his face. "Do you want a ball of witch fire up your nose?"

            Todd grinned. "I like 'em feisty."

            I pretended like I was about to punch him in the face, and Todd squawked. "Mooooooommmyyyyyyy!"

            There was a pause in action in the other room, and my father appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, wearing his dark green robe. Sometimes when I look at him like that, I want to yell, _Dumbledore! Nice to see ya!_

"Moira, what's going on in here?" he asked, looking from me to the cowering Todd. A few of the coven members were gathering behind him. My mother was looking at me with a questioning look. Things were still strained between us after my outburst.

            "He was doing it again," I explained, gesturing to Todd.

            His mother made an irritated noise from within the crowd. "That's _it! _We are going home, mister, and if you can't learn to behave yourself, you aren't coming back!" Sharon dragged Todd out of our house by his ear.

            Ethan followed her, saying, "I'm sorry, Hunter, I promise he won't do this again…"

            "Oh, it's all right. It's not your fault," Dad answered, looking at me.

            I sighed and crossed my arms across my chest. "Sure. Blame the girl."

            "Morgan, would you finish the circle, please? I want to have a word with Moira," my dad said.

            Mom bit her lip before saying, "Sure." She gave me one more quizzical look, then led the rest of Kithic back into the living room.

            My dad ran his fingers through his hair and looked at me. "Moira, why can't you just try to get along with other people?"

            "I can't help it if people are constantly pissing me off," I told him.

            "You can't keep losing your bloody temper!" Dad yelled at me.

            "Well, my _bloody tempah shouldn't be tested by twelve-year-old brats!" I put my hands up on my face and took a few breaths. "You know what? I'm gonna go calm myself down the Wiccan way, okay?"_

            "That's a good girl," my father said as I ran upstairs. Dagda padded after me.

            Once I got to the second floor, I stood for a minute, thinking. Then I walked into my parents' room.

            I knelt down and opened the cabinet of my mother's nightstand. Inside were a collection of beautifully bound books. My mother's Books of Shadows. I'd read most of them, but not the smallest one. That one was from when my mother was a teenager. I took it and sat down on my parents' bed, flipping through.

            Dagda gave out a warning-filled _mrow as he hopped up next to me._

            "It's not like I'm looking for her darkest secrets," I told him, stroking his black fur. "I'm just seeing if she wrote down  a calming ritual." I scanned the pages quickly, until something caught my eye. "Calming circle," I read aloud. "A ritual for inner cleansing. Well, got what I needed." I hopped off the bed and went out to my room, with Dagda meowing disdainfully behind me.

            The cat followed me as I walked into my room. I quickly began to set up my own little circle. The ritual didn't require me to set up an altar, just a circle. Most witches just draw a circle on the floor with a piece of chalk, but I like to be a little different. I gathered all the candles in my room (and there were a lot of them) and set them up in a circle, leaving two candles out of the ring until I had turned off my light and moved my mother's Book of Shadows, a bowl of salt, and myself into the circle. I sat with my knees drawn up to my chest, and I took my time lighting each candle with my mind. The look of my room in the candlelight was beautiful.

            I sprinkled salt around my circle of candles, saying, "With this salt, I purify my circle." Then I opened the old book to where I'd found the ritual. I put it on the floor in front of me, crossing my legs Indian-style. 

            "With every breath out, release a negative emotion," I read from the Book of Shadows. "With every breath in, take in white light, healing light, soothing and calming light. Feel it enter your fingers, your toes, settle in your stomach, reach up through the crown of your head." _Wow, this lady was weird, _I thought, frowning at the slight cheesiness. According to the Book of Shadows, this had been shown to my mother by a woman named Selene. 

            I closed my eyes and concentrated on the breathing though, then began speaking again, as the ritual dictated. "I release tension," I said. "I release fear and anger. I release uncertainty." With every breath, with every feeling of discord that I released, I felt calmer. More at peace.

            _Moira…_

I opened my eyes with a gasp. A voice had echoed in my _mind._

_            Calm feeling gone, calm feeling reeeally gone, _I thought.

            Dagda had fled from my room, meowing with alarm. I cast out my witch senses, trying to feel any unfamiliar presences. I hadn't recognized that voice at all. It was male; that's all I could tell. I quickly blew out the candles and ran out of the room and down the stairs.

            I stopped short when I saw my mother sitting at the kitchen table, petting Dagda. She looked up and saw me. "Hi, Moira," she said. "Do you know what's up with Dagda? He's acting strange."

            I opened my mouth, then closed it again. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to tell her about the voice. "I don't know," I said, shrugging. I sat down across from her. Dagda was still _mrow-ing at me, as if to say, _This is all your fault._ _

            Mom scratched her cat behind the ears thoughtfully. I sat, looking at her pensively. My mother hadn't had an easy path. She'd grown up as a normal Catholic girl, with friends and two loving parents and a little sister. But in her junior year of high school, she discovered Wicca—and a world she never knew could possibly exist. That was when she found out that she was a blood witch, and adopted by her parents. Her parents didn't want Mom to practice Wicca because they knew that her mother—my grandmother—had been burned inside a barn, and witchcraft was supposedly involved. It was tough between Mom and her parents for a while, but they finally came to terms with each other. Mom's even kept their last name, Rowlands, which makes people ask me where the Riordan in my name came from. 

            When my dad met her, my mom was just about seventeen and he was nineteen. At the time he was a Seeker for the International Council of Witches, following a lead on misuse of magick. At first Mom and Dad hated each other, but obviously that all changed in time. My dad says that when he met her, she was a young girl with so much power and so little control. Other witches from the Council were always astounded by the witch who could light fires with her mind and only had three months worth of training. The last living heir of the powerful coven Belwicket who'd spent her life going to church every Sunday. She was the daughter of Maeve Riordan, a young woman who fled Ireland after the dark wave destroyed her whole town and renounced all forms of Wicca when she escaped to New York. Maeve would have been high priestess of Belwicket if it wasn't for the dark wave.

            My mom has dark hair and dark eyes, and she looks thin and intense. People who knew Mom when she was younger say that when they see me, it's like seeing a young Morgan Rowlands again. People say I'm exactly like her.

            And I wonder if they're right.

            "Moira…" my mom said, looking at Dagda. "About what happened on Thursday…"

            "I'm sorry," I interrupted. "I shouldn't have said what I said. I didn't mean it. It's just so hard sometimes…"

            "I know," Mom said quietly, stretching her arm and putting her hand over mine. "I shouldn't have yelled. I'm just worried about you, sweetie. People don't take to witches too well, you know."

            "I know." I looked into her dark hazel eyes, so like mine. "Are things going to be okay?" 

Mom smiled. "Of course they are." She got up and hugged me, and I squirmed a little. I've never been a hug-y person.

            I still couldn't get myself to tell her about hearing the voice inside my head. _That _isn't normal no matter _who _you are.

*   *   *

            On Monday at school we were having an assembly. Some overachieving Harvard graduate was visiting to lecture us freshmen on planning our lives in order to be successful. This guy seemed pretty serious; he had a white board for making notes and everything. Everyone was jabbering and making a lot of noise. If I had anybody to jabber to and make noise with, I would have been, too. But everyone either ignored me or acted like I had the plague.

            Mr. Richter tapped the microphone. "Excuse me? May I have your attention?" Slowly everyone quieted down. "As you know, Andrew Hoskins has come to discuss your futures with you. All I ask is that you pay attention to him and don't make a ruckus. Mr. Hoskins…"

            The Harvard Smarty got up to the podium and began to drone on about how he started plotting out his path in life when he was in diapers. I stared up at the ceiling, spacing out. I thought about TV shows I'd been watching last night, the math quiz next period…

            Suddenly I felt a weird presence in the room. And someone gasped. And screamed. "The _pen is _moving!" _a girl screeched._

            I jumped up, looking towards the stage. Mr. Hoskins was staring open-mouthed at his white message board. The red dry-erase pen was hovering next to it. Slowly, it touched the board and began to write an _I. _When it finally dropped to the floor, the message read:

            _I will come for you, Moira._

Here's a pop quiz:

            How many Moiras are in one high school?

*   *   *

            Minutes later I was sitting in the principal's office. "What the hell just happened?" Mr. Richter asked me.

            "A pen starts floating in midair and writes a message to me, and I'm supposed to know what happened," I muttered.

            "Are you telling me that you have no idea what that was about?" Mr. Richter said, leaning over his desk to look me in the eyes.

            "I haven't the faintest idea who or what did that," I told him.

            Mr. Richter rubbed his temples, muttering something about phantom stalkers. He sat down at his desk and breathed out. "Of course we'll call your parents--"

            "No!" I surprised both of us by blurting that out. I honestly don't know where that came from. While Mr. Richter stared at me, I said, "I mean, why bother them? It didn't seem _too threatening, right?" Mr. Richter looked at me skeptically. "Look, my mom wasn't too thrilled about the last time you called home. Let me tell them, okay?"_

            "Fine, Moira," agreed Mr. Richter. "But promise me you'll tell them."

            "Wiccan's honor," I said, holding up my hand. He looked at me. "Okay, I made that up. But trust me."

            I walked out of Mr. Richter's office feeling incredibly afraid. Was something…after me?


	3. chapter three: warning

**Shadow Girl**

**Book One: Who I Am**

****

[Chapter Three: Warning]

            The math quiz took me about three-quarters of the time given to us, so I spent the free time pondering the events that had taken place. I had been contacted by a disembodied voice twice. Once in my own room, within my own circle, and once in front of my whole school. And I still had no clue who or what it was.

            I doodled on the corner of my paper, trying to think. I drew little pentacles, stars within circles, then scribbled them out so the teacher wouldn't freak. _I could just forget it ever happened, _I thought. The idea appealed to me: ignore whatever freaky voices I heard, pretend that someone wasn't trying to talk to me.

            Suddenly, the doodled ink on my paper seemed to disappear. It shimmered for a moment, then was absorbed by the paper. I frowned. _Okay, first I hear voices no one else can hear, and now my paper is drinking my ink. When did I get sent into the Harry Potter dimension?_

Words appeared on the corner of my paper in the ink I had used. I stared at it, my heart thumping: 

            _I will not be ignored._

Suddenly some math textbooks on a book case shot out from their shelves, raining down on Courtney Hartford. She screamed, then jumped up and pointed her perfectly manicured finger at me. "Witch!" she yelled. All the kids turned to look at me. I was clutching my quiz.

            "Moira, come with me," Mr. Hochstetler said, going out into the hall. Once I got out there, he said, "Why did you do that?"

            "I didn't do it!" I told him.

            He sighed. "Moira…we have a very good psychologist here. After what I saw at the assembly, I think these outbursts are a cry for attention…"

            Oh my _God. He actually thought that I'd write a creepy message to myself in front of the whole school just for attention? "Mr. Hochstetler, I didn't do it, but if it would make you feel better, I'll go back in there, apologize to Courtney, and we can all forget that that happened." I stopped, thinking about that last message. _I will not be ignored…__

"Fine," Mr. Hochstetler said. "But I do recommend seeing the school psychologist…"

            "Yeah. Right," I said, turning and headed back into the classroom. But he had a point—with all the stuff my parents and I dealt with, it was a wonder we didn't all end up in therapy.

*   *   *

            Later that day, everything that happened at school faded away. My mother's best friend was coming into town from Los Angeles, California, and when Bree Warren comes to town, it's a non-stop party. Aunt Bree, as I call her, works as a freelance model. She's gorgeous, with dark brown eyes and dark, minky hair. She was once married to a Hollywood director but got divorced three years ago. She's in ads and magazines everywhere, but what few people know about her is that she practices Wicca, and she's got a talent for Tarot reading. It's a tradition whenever she visits: We all eat a big dinner cooked by Mom, chat for hours about what's been happening in our lives, and get our Tarot readings done. It's something I look forward to.

            "Moira, Bree's here!" my mom called up the stairs. I hurried down the hallway towards the stairs. Dagda interrupted me by giving me his cat-sized attitude again. I stopped and picked my cat up.

            "I didn't do anything wrong," I told him. "This haunting thing is _not _my fault. So you can stop acting like I'm a curse, okay?" Dagda responded by giving me an annoyed growl. I sighed and put him down, hurrying downstairs.

            Aunt Bree was hugging and kissing my parents downstairs. "Hunter, you don't look a _day older than twenty, I swear!" she was saying when I got downstairs. Aunt Bree turned to me, a broad smile on her perfect face. "And there's my favorite little fire fairy!" she cooed, capturing me in a tight hug._

            "Hey, what about me?" Mom asked with mock disappointment. A small smile illuminated her face.

            "I'm smaller than you are, therefore cuter and the favorite," I told her, grinning. We all laughed.

            "You are growing up to be your mother, I swear," Aunt Bree said. "Identical in every way."

            I smiled. "Hey, I redid my room since the last time you were here," I told her. "Come up and see it." Aunt Bree followed me up the stairs and into my room.

            "Well, this is it," I told her when we'd reached my room.

            "Ooh, I like," Aunt Bree said, looking around. My walls were a light blue color, and the ceiling was a darker blue with press-on glow-in-the-dark stars. My comforter is blue with a celestial print on it, and there was a star-shaped rug on my floor. In the corner was a trunk that I used to store things I need to perform rituals, and it also served as my altar. And of course, candles were scattered throughout the room. "Very witchy," Aunt Bree commented, smirking.

            "But of course," I replied, lighting a red pillar candle on my nightstand with my mind.

            Aunt Bree shivered a little, an excited smile on her face. "After twenty years of knowing your mother, I still get chills when you do that." Bree isn't a blood witch, just a regular person who practices Wicca. She knew my mother before she found out about her Wiccan heritage, back when she was just your everyday kid. The discovery of her true blood lines caused some turbulence in their friendship, but things calmed down and Mom and Aunt Bree are still very close friends.

            "So how long are you staying?" I asked Aunt Bree.

            "I'm going back to LA on Sunday," she answered.

            I grinned. "Sitting in at Kithic?"

            "Absolutely," she told me, flopping down on my bed. Aunt Bree studied my face for a minute, then said, "Is something wrong? You look like you've got a lot on your mind."

            I shifted uncomfortably. I had been debating on whether or not to tell Aunt Bree about what had been happening to me. I still couldn't manage to tell my parents, but Aunt Bree seemed to be a good idea. She and I are really close, closer than me and my blood-related aunt Mary K., who loves me and is a great person but thinks Wicca is creepy.

            I sat down next to Aunt Bree on my bed. "Can I talk to you about something? I've wanted to talk about it with my parents, but…I can't."

            Aunt Bree got this _Aww kind of look on her face. "Is this about a boy?" she asked me with a goofy smile._

            I rolled my eyes and laughed. "No, not exactly." I took a breath, then said "Lately, I…"

            But I didn't get past that. A wave of nausea swept through me. The voice was back.

            _Not…Bree…_

A shelf that had been attached to my wall suddenly came crashing down. Aunt Bree and I screamed, me jumping into her arms. My heart was beating a million miles an hour.

            A moment later my mother opened my bedroom door. "What happened?" she asked, looking first at Aunt Bree and I, then at the fallen shelf.

            "I guess the shelf just…fell..." Aunt Bree said weakly. I was shaking. 

            Mom sighed, looking at the debris on the floor. "Looks like Hunter has a trip to Home Depot tomorrow." She looked back at us and smiled. "Dinner will be ready soon."

            "Okay," Aunt Bree said, getting up from my bed. "What are we having?"

            Mom grinned. "Chicken Morgan, of course."

            "Yum!" Aunt Bree and my mom walked out of my room. A few minutes later, Aunt Bree stuck her head back into my room. "Oh, Moira, what did you want to tell me?"

            "Oh, it can wait. Until later. Or never. Whatever works for you." My eyes never left the place where my shelf once was. These attacks were getting more and more violent each time they happened. And something told me that they would only get worse.

*  *  *

            Dinner was great, and my parents and Aunt Bree chatted the whole time. But I was silent, eating my chicken and thinking about the voice that kept haunting me. Of course, it was more than a voice. It was some kind of…_thing, _that could make things move. I never heard of any invisible telekinetic beings, but I guess there's stuff that I don't know yet. I'd have to check all the books I had, maybe take a trip to Practical Magick, the Wicca store in Red Kill. It wasn't too far from here.

            "So, who's ready for Tarot time?" Aunt Bree asked, grinning. After we cleaned up the dining room table, we all gathered around the coffee table in the living room. Aunt Bree took her deck of Tarot cards out of her macramé hadbag and said, "Who's first?"

            "I'll go," I said, sitting down opposite Aunt Bree.

She shuffled the deck and asked, "What kind of spread do you want?"

"Three card."

"'Kay." Aunt Bree shuffled the deck a little more, saying, "Now don't tell me your question. I like to have a non-biased view of the cards." I nodded, and thought of my question. _I want to know what is haunting me._

Aunt Bree held a card facedown over the table. "The first card represents your past," she said, then she turned it over. On it, there was a drawing of a crescent moon. "The Moon. This usually represents secrets hidden from you."

"Secrets?" I repeated. Aunt Bree nodded, and I thought about that. Who would be keeping secrets from me? I didn't have any friends. 

Aunt Bree held out another card, facedown. "The second card represents your present." She turned it over, and the card was upside-down, facing me. "Temperance, reversed," Aunt Bree said. "You feel like a situation is out-of-control; you feel powerless." She looked up at me, into my eyes. "Is this making sense to you so far?" I nodded.

She held out one last card. "The third card represents your future." She turned it over, revealing a drawing of the globe. "The World," Aunt Bree explained. "Represents a completion of some sorts; coming full-circle. It could mean something very important to you and the people who surround you."

I bit my lip, thinking. Secrets…powerlessness…completion. I couldn't see how this helped me. I didn't even know who would keep secrets from me. "Thanks, Aunt Bree," I said. "I just remembered I have some homework to do; call me when you're gonna leave, okay?"

Aunt Bree nodded, and Mom asked, "Are you okay, Moira?"

I looked at her and Dad. I'd almost forgotten they were there. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'll see you later." I hurried up into my room and lay down in my bed. _Secrets, _I thought. _This ghost has something to do with secrets. I closed my eyes, and ended up falling asleep until my mom came to tell me that Aunt Bree was going to go to her hotel._

In the car, Aunt Bree volunteered to take the backseat, and I sat up front with my mom. We drove in silence for a long time. Then, my mother said, "Moira,  is something bothering you?"

I looked sideways at her. "Why do you ask?"

My mother looked sideways back at me. "You've seemed tense, ever since that shelf fell in your room. And your Tarot reading seemed really…"

"Serious," Aunt Bree finished. "The cards that showed up were all Major Arcana cards, and that usually means the question is very important to the querent, or it might be a life-altering matter."

I thought about what had happened the last time I tried to talk about my little problem. I looked down at my hands. "Well…"

Suddenly the car swerved to the right. We all screamed, and I clutched the car door in fear. We rolled to a stop in a ditch off the road.

"Oh my God," my mother whispered. She turned to look at Aunt Bree and then looked at me. "Is everyone okay?"

"I'm fine," Aunt Bree said shakily. "What happened, Morgan?"

"I...I don't know," Mom said, looking up at the road. "All of a sudden, I just…lost control of the car." There was a stormy look in her eyes, like she was having déjà vu. She turned to me. "Moira, are you okay?"

I gulped, and managed a small squeaking sound. I had felt that strange presence again. And it had almost killed all three of us. And yet, it was weird: For something who wouldn't be ignored, it had a hard time with me telling anyone about it. "I'm fine," I said finally, straightening up in the seat. "I'm fine."

**[Author's Note]**

Eesh, short-ish  chapter. Well, I just wanted to take this time to thank everyone who left me reviews. You rock! ^_^ And I would also like to give credit to Astarte's TarotWeb () because I used that site as a resource for Bree's tarot reading. Keep reading, and enjoy!! [(::Katie::)]


	4. chapter four: invitation

**Shadow Girl**

**Book One: Who I Am**

****

[Chapter Four: Invitation]

      On Wednesday I saw the first sign of the Apocalypse.

            I was stashing my things in my locker before homeroom. I was back in my normal clothes, which today consisted of low-rise dark blue jeans and a navy blue peasant blouse. Then I heard someone say my name: "Moira."

            At first, I thought it was just my phantom stalker. But then, I realized that the voice wasn't inside my head. I turned around and saw an older kid, probably a junior, standing over me. He had reddish-brown hair and light brown eyes. He smiled. "Hi. I'm Rusty."

            "…Hi?"

            "Hi." Rusty reached into the pocket of his baggy jeans and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. "I was wondering if you'd like to come to a party this Saturday."

            "…What?"

            "A party," he repeated, unfolding the flyer and handing it to me. I took it, still looking at Rusty like he was headlights to my deer impression. "It's on Saturday, like I said, and it's nothing too big, just a few of my friends…and you. Do you think you can come?"

            "…Okay?"

            Rusty smiled again. "Okay. See you there." And he walked away, with me still staring.

            Someone grabbed my arm just then and whirled me around. "Did you just get invited to a _party?" _Courtney Hartford asked. She was dressed up in her Widow's Vale Tigers cheerleading uniform.

            "Hi Corky," I said, using her childhood nickname. "How ya doin'? I'm just fine, thanks."

            Courtney shook me. "Moira! _Did you get invited to a party?"_

"Apparently, I did," I said, holding up the flyer. Courtney gaped for a second, then she walked around me and towards Rusty.

            "Hey! You!" she yelled after him. He turned and looked at her with one eyebrow raised. Courtney put on one of her fake smiles and said, "So, I heard you're throwing a party."

            "Yeah. I am."

            "Cool," she said in an overly perky voice. "So, is there an invite for me in there?" Courtney gave him a blinding grin that only a few dozen happy pills can create.

            Rusty looked her right in the eyes. "Sorry, but I don't think you'd enjoy the party very much."

            Courtney's eyes bulged. "B-but…were any other girls from the squad invited?"

            "I'm afraid not. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get to class."

            I walked over and stood next to Courtney, staring after Rusty as he walked down the hallway. "Huh. I guess Wicca beats cheerleading for this round."

            "Ugh," Courtney sputtered, walking away. I leaned against a wall, reading the flyer. Suddenly, I noticed the location. It read: _Location: field, 2 miles past Tower's market. I frowned, then ran to catch up with Rusty._

            "Hey Rusty!" I called.

            Rusty turned around. "Uh, I don't want to be rude, but I'm going to be late to class."

            "I'm sorry," I told him. "But it's about the location of the party." Rusty raised an eyebrow. "In case you didn't know it, it's in the middle of freaking _nowhere. _Is this some kind of trick? Am I gonna show up and no one else will be there?"

            Rusty smiled again, and shook his head. "I promise you, I'm not tricking you. I thought we could all watch the stars, just hang out. Maybe have a bonfire."

            I blinked. "Oh. Okay…" Rusty smiled and turned to leave. And at that moment, the bell rang. I was late. 

            Invited to a party. But late.

* * *

            My mom comes home from work at five, and today she dropped her things and went right to work on making dinner. I jumped off the couch and followed her into the kitchen.

            "Hi, Moira," Mom said, opening the refrigerator and grabbing a couple of potatoes. "You're never going to guess what happened today."

            "Funny, I was gonna say the same thing," I told her.

            "My parents called."

            I stopped. "They did?" Mom's parents don't usually contact us unless it's a holiday or a birthday.

            "Yeah." She scrubbed the potatoes in the sink. "They're coming to town, _tonight, _and I told them to come over for dinner. So now I have to whip up a big dinner for them."

            "Huh. Well, I got invited to a party."

            Mom turned to me, a big smile on her face. "You did?"

            "Yep, I was surprised, too."

            "Cool, when is it?"

            "Saturday."

            Mom bit her lip. "Honey, Saturday's the twenty-first: Ostara. We were going to have a special celebration with Kithic, remember?"

            "Well, yeah," I told her. "But this is a _party. That __I was _invited _to."_

            "Where is it?"

            I laughed a little. "That's the strange part; it's in the middle of nowhere, in the field out past Tower's market."

            Mom dropped the potato she was holding. "Where is it?" she asked again, and her eyes got that stormy look in them again.

            "In the middle of an open field." I handed her the flyer Rusty had given me.

            Mom looked at it for a moment. "I don't want you to go."

            "What?" Mom went back to washing potatoes, which aggravated me. "Mom, do you remember the last time I was invited to a party?"

            "Moira…"

            "It was Tommy McKenze's fifth birthday party, and I accused the magician of being a fake." Mom moved from the sink to wipe her hands dry, and I followed her. "Mrs. McKenze called you when I asked him why he didn't cast a circle and invoke the Goddess, remember that? And now I get invited to a party that won't have any magicians for me to accuse, and you say I can't _go?!"_

"Do you know this person who invited you?" Mom asked.

            I blinked. "Not really…he seemed older than me. But Mom, I don't really know _anyone _in that school."

            "Do you know if he's new in school?"

            "If you're gonna give me the Inquisition, the questions could at least be relevant," I retorted. "Seriously, _why can't I go?"_

At that point, my dad came home from work. "Hallo, girls," he said.

            At once, Mom and I came at him with our arguments. Soon Dad put up his hands and said, "Hey, hey, hey! Will you bloody take turns? I only have one pair of ears."

            "Mom won't let me go to a party," I told him.

            "I don't think it's safe," she shot back, more towards me than Dad.

            "Why?" I asked her. "Why don't you think it's safe?"

            She paused for a second. "There's probably going to be beer there."

            "So? I don't drink."

            "The other kids will. And I don't want anything happening to you because they're drunk!"

            "Dad?" I turned to my father, giving him puppy-eyes. "Come on, make her let me go!"

            My parents looked at each other for a long time, having one of their silent discussions. Which, in fact, is entirely possible, being blood witches. Mental telepathy and all that.

            "Morgan, I know why you don't think she should go…" Dad started. "But Moira's completely capable of taking care of herself."

            "Yeah," I agreed. "If anyone tries anything, I'll set their head on fire."

            "Moira, you will not do any such thing!" My dad yelled after me as I walked down the hall.

            "Kidding, Dad," I said lazily, flopping down on the couch. "So can I go? Puh-_leease?"_

"Fine," my mother said, though she was biting her lip and her eyes were stormy as ever. "Now go and put something nice on for your grandparents."

            "Okay," I told her, hopping up from the couch and heading up to my room. But just as I was about to open my bedroom door, shivers rushed down my spine and I felt The Ghost's presence (I didn't know what else to call him).

            _Hmm, Catholics…what fun I'll have…_

"Oh no, you _won't,_" I whispered fiercely, hoping that The Ghost could hear me.

            "Moira?" I turned to see my dad standing at the top of the stairs, slightly staring. "Dear, who are you talking to?"

            Uh… "No one," I told him, and shut the bedroom door behind me. _Great, _I thought. _My grandparents are never going to want to come here again. Then, I spent a few minutes pondering whether or not that was a bad thing._

*  *  *

            A few minutes later, I was in a red dress with a tiny white flower print with my hair in two braids. My whole family was in the kitchen helping prepare dinner. I was chopping up vegetables for a salad when the phone rang. My dad answered it, saying "Hallo?" in his crisp British accent. He listened for a moment, then said, "Ah, yes…yes she's right here."

            Mom held out her hand, expecting it to be for her. But Dad shook his head, saying, "It's for Moira."

            I raised my eyebrows. "Wow. Suddenly I'm popular." I took the phone from my dad and said, "Hello?"

            "Hi." It was a female voice. "It's Claire D'Alessio, I'm in your Global class. You know who I'm talking about, right?"

            "Yeah," I told her. What I really wanted to say was, _How can I not __know you? Claire D'Alessio isn't an easy one to miss. She's got long, blonde hair right down to her butt. She could probably sit on it if she wanted to. It's a really pale blonde, too, so she might even look like a fairytale princess…_

            …If it weren't for the blue streaks she put in her hair. Yep, she's pretty noticeable. Her sister Jamie's hair is a _rainbow. _

            "So, what's up?" Claire said.

            "Not much…" I was still trying to fathom why she'd called me. "What about you?"

            "Not much. Listen, you're coming to Rusty's party, right?"

            "Yeah, I am," I said. "Are you?"

            "Yeah, that's why I called. I wanted to know if you needed a ride, on Saturday, 'cause my sister and I could drive you."

            "Sure," I told her. "Thanks. Hey, is Rusty new at school?"

            A pause. "No…why?"

            I shrugged. "My mother's paranoid for some reason." Mom threw a dishtowel at me, and I laughed. "He's not new," I whispered to her, grinning.

            "So, what're you doing?" Claire asked.

            "I'm getting ready for an impromptu dinner with my grandparents. Should be a comedy," I added sarcastically.

            Dad poked me for that, and I whispered, "What? They're _terrified of me."_

            "They're terrified of you?" Claire asked. I guess she could hear that.

            "Yeah. The whole Wicca thing scares them." I didn't feel weird talking to her about it, since everyone knew anyway.

            "But…aren't they, you know, one of you?"

            "No. They're my mom's adoptive parents."

            "Oh." There was a small pause, then Claire said, "Well, I guess you have to get ready, huh?"

            "Yeah," I told her. "I'll see you in school tomorrow."

            "'Kay," Claire replied. "See you tomorrow."

            I said bye, then hung up. "That was the weirdest thing I have ever experienced."

            "What did she want?" Mom asked.

            I shrugged. "She offered me a ride to the party." Mom bit her lip and got that worried look on her face again, and I said, "Why are you so paranoid?"

            "A mother worries," she answered. I sighed and we all finished preparing dinner.

            Soon, my grandparents had arrived. "Hi Mom, hi Dad," Mom greeted them, giving them kisses on their cheeks.

            "Hello, Morgan," Grandma replied. "Hello, Hunter," she added as my dad came up behind Mom. Grandma kissed Dad's cheek, too, and Grandpa shook his hand.

            "Hi Grandma, hi Grandpa," I said clasping my hands behind my back and giving them a little grin.

            There was a short silence between my grandparents. "Hello, Moira," Grandma finally said, giving me a nervous smile. I could practically hear her saying, _Please don't hurt me…_

Yep. That's me. The demon grandchild. Like I said, Grandma and Grandpa Rowlands are in denial about their daughter being a witch. They couldn't exactly deny that I was one the day I accidentally set Grandma's pocketbook on fire (I was aiming for the candle next to it, really!). Sometimes it really hurts when they act so cautious around me; like I'm this huge blemish on their family tree. I feel like saying, _Hey, I'm not actually blood related so you can just leave and never come back, _but that would just hurt Mom. She's worked so hard at keeping things civil between her and her parents, ever since she learned about the adoption.

            Mom led us all into the living room, where I sat in the armchair, Mom and Dad occupied the love seat, and Grandma and Grandpa settled on the couch. "So, how is work going, Morgan?" Grandpa asked.

            "Oh, you know…it's work," Mom laughed. "Business as usual."

            Grandpa nodded. "And you, Hunter?"

            "Same old, same old."

            Another one of those silences. "Moira, how is school?"

            "It's…school. Kind of boring. I'm getting good grades in English class and math," I told him.

            "Moira was just invited to a party today," Dad said brightly. Mom gave him a slightly cross look.

            "Well, that's wonderful!" Grandma said. What she really wanted to say was, _Thank God she isn't a total outcast because she's a witch!        _

"Yeah, it's this Saturday," I told them. They nodded in mild interest.

            "So how's Mary K. doing?" Mom asked. "I haven't heard from her in a while."

            "Oh, she's doing well," Grandma said. She swelled with pride as she said, "David's doing just excellently in school. A's in everything."

            I sighed. David, age eight, was the favorite grandchild, no doubt about that. He was the perfect, _normal _grandson, who did sports, was a genius, and had plenty of friends. Whenever our family gets together for a family reunion, David always points out, "Grandma and Grandpa like me more than you."

            To which I always say, "I saw the future today. You're not in it."

            "Oh, that's great," Mom said. "So, dinner's ready when we are." We all walked into the dining room and sat at the table. Grandpa and Dad sat at the ends, Mom and Grandma sat on one side, and I got the drinks and the bowl of salad out of the kitchen. We all sat and piled salad into our bowls.

            _So far, no ghost, _I thought as I munched on lettuce. I breathed a sigh of relief.

            And, of course, I spoke too soon.

            Chills went down my spine as that eerie presence filled the room. Suddenly the candles that had been lit on the table extinguished themselves.

            "Oh dear," I whispered.

            "What the bloody…" My dad never finished his sentence. The flatware began to shake, as if we were in the middle of an earthquake. His eyes grew wide, trying to understand what was happening.

            The Ghost gave out a hollow, evil-sounding laugh. _Scared, are you, Giomanach?_

I gasped. This _thing _knew my father's coven name. How did he know?

            Grandma was staring open-mouthed at the table, and next to her Mom had grown pale. I stared at Mom. I hadn't seen her so terrified since the car accident.

            Suddenly a plate shot from the table, nearly hitting my dad in the face. He ducked in time, and the plate shattered against a wall.

            I leapt up from the table, yelling, "Run for cover! This house is haunted!" I was tempted to add, _And it's not my fault! _but that just makes people ask questions.

            I ran up to my room and slammed the door behind me. Pacing my room, I wondered why this thing was after me. "Why?" I suddenly asked, out loud. "Why are you haunting me? Why not someone else? Why _me?"_

My door suddenly slammed open. "Moira Fiona Riordan-Niall!"

            I cringed. My mother only uses my full name when she's really, _really, _pissed at me.

            "What in the name of all things holy were you _thinking?" she screamed at me. "Did you think it was _funny? _Did you think it was _amusing?"__

            I gaped. "Mom, I didn't--"

            "Oh, please! 'Run for cover, this place is haunted'? How could you possibly deny doing that?!" My dad was standing behind her now, and he put a hand on her shoulder. Mom shook it off. "Was it the David comment? Are you that jealous?"

            "Mom!" I yelled. "I know why you think I did it, but _I didn't do it." I was trying hard not to lose it. "Look inside my mind if you want. I'm not lying!"_

            My mother stared at me for a moment, and then her shoulders sagged and she looked like she was about to _cry. "Oh, Moira, I know it wasn't you," she said in this defeated kind of way. "I just wish I knew what that was! And I still don't know why I got in that car accident--"_

            "You got in a car accident?" Dad interrupted, looking at Mom in concern. "Why didn't you tell me?"

            "It didn't seem important," Mom said quietly. They looked at each other, discussing something silently.

            "No," my dad said. "That's impossible."

            "What's impossible?" I asked.

            "Nothing," my mother said. "Nothing." They left my room without another word. _Secrets, _I thought, remembering the tarot reading. But I immediately pushed that out of my head. My mother had grown up among lies; she knew what it felt like.

            Why would she do that to her own daughter?


	5. chapter five: a face in the flames

**Shadow Girl**

**Book One: Who I Am**

[Chapter Five: A Face in the Flames]

      The rest of the week flew by, and soon I was getting ready for the big party. Mom and Dad had adjusted things so the Ostara festivities with Kithic didn't interfere with my plans. It was great: Ostara's the  celebration of the vernal equinox, the first day of spring. We did a powerful circle, and I felt like I was really alive, with magick flowing through me like an electric current through water. But now, stress overcame me as I faced a girl problem I'd never considered before: what was I going to wear?

            Luckily, Aunt Bree hadn't left our house yet, so I shouted for her to come up and help me. She picked through my closet, and finally picked out a dark green stretchy top and jeans. "So are you nervous?" she asked as I threw on the clothes.

            "Terrified," I admitted. "I still have no idea why these people suddenly want to befriend me."

            "Don't question a good thing," Bree advised, grinning. By that time, I had my clothes on, and she asked, "Do you have makeup?" I nodded and handed her the plastic baggy of makeup. Aunt Bree sat me down and began making me over.

            "Nreeh," I complained when she came at me with the eyeliner. "I've had bad experiences with that."

            "Oh, calm down," Aunt Bree replied. "Just hold still, I won't hurt you." Miraculously, I got through that one with both eyes intact. Then she brushed my dark brown hair until it shone. 

            Mom came into my room while Bree was primping me. "Hey, hun. You look great," she told me.

            "Thanks," I told her. "You still paranoid about this thing?"

            "It's not paranoia," Mom said. "It's just that it's your first high school party and I'm worried. It's normal for a mother to worry."

            "Mom, you were fine until you found out it was in the middle of a field," I argued.

            "That's because anything can happen to you in the middle of a field and we'll never know," replied Mom.

            "You asked if the kid was new at school like it was vital information." Aunt Bree and Mom shared looks, and I got the feeling that they were hiding something from me. I frowned. "What?"

            "Nothing," Mom said, which only made me more irritated. I got up and left my room.

            A few minutes later the doorbell rang and my dad answered it. "Oh, hello," he said when he found Claire D'Alessio on the other side. I think her hair surprised him a little.

            "Hi," she said. "Is Moira here?"

            "Yes, of course," Dad told her. I grabbed my denim jacket, and Dad said, "Be careful, Moira. No drinking. Be home by midnight."

            "Yes, Dad," I said, feeling embarrassed. Claire and I walked out to where Jamie was waiting in her faded white Camry. 

            "Nice wheels," she told me, nodding over at my Mom's car. "What is it, a '71 Valiant?"

            "Yeah," I said, trying not to stare at her multicolored hair. "Das Boot."

            "What?" Claire asked, laughing a little.

            I smiled. "Das Boot. It's what my mom calls her car, 'cause my grandpa says it weighs more than a submarine, so they called it Das Boot—'the boat' in German."

            "Cool," Claire said. "You should name your car, James."

            Jamie frowned as the car struggled to get started. "How about 'Lousy Piece of Crap'?" Claire and I laughed, and we rolled out of my driveway and towards the edge of town.

            Soon Jamie was pulling up to an old willow oak. Three other cars were also parked under the tree. "Looks like we're the last ones to get here," Claire observed, climbing out of the backseat. My magesight adjusted immediately to the darkness. 

            "How many people are gonna be here?" I asked.

            "Four others besides us," Jamie answered, walking towards a flickering light in the distance. As we got closer, I saw that somebody had made a small campfire, and the rest of the party guests were sitting around it. The scene reminded me of when I was about six and my family and I went to Ireland to celebrate Litha, the Wiccan summer solstice celebration. A bunch of local witches put together a bonfire in an empty field and we spent the night sipping hot cider, singing, and enjoying the midsummer night. A little girl named Ceire taught me the words to the song, which had been entirely in Gaelic, and we and the rest of the kids did sort of a ring-around-the-rosy around the fire. It was really fun, and a lot of people were interested in Mom and I, being descendants of Maeve Riordan, who was a native of Ballynigel, Ireland. Sometimes I wish we could have stayed in Ireland. There were more blood witches there; I didn't feel like I stuck out.

            "Moira, hi." Rusty got up to meet us. "I'm glad you could come," he told me, looking directly into my eyes. I had to look away; it made me feel weird, having a guy look at me like that. "Hey Jamie, Claire," he greeted the D'Alessio sisters. "There's hot cider and soda, help yourselves."

            I almost repeated, _Hot cider?! _because that's a big drink for Wiccans. I hadn't expected any of the other people here to have cider at all. Next to me, Claire grinned and elbowed my side. "Looks like Rusty has a crush," she commented.

            I gave a short laugh. "What the hell are you on?"

            "No, I think Lil' Sis is right," Jamie agreed, smirking at me. I shook my head, and followed Claire towards the other people. We all talked for a while. Most of the other people were older than me and Claire: Arianna Waters and PJ Franks were sophomores, and Rusty McDown, Mike Johnson, and Jamie were juniors.

            "You having fun?" Rusty asked me at one point. I nodded, staring into the fire. Fire and I have a special relationship. We can work with each other easily; it's my element, the one I most identify with. My zodiac sign is Leo, a fire sign. I scry with fire; I can see images of the past, present, and possible futures within its flames. Of course, other witches scry with fire, too, but not many do. It's difficult to scry with fire. It's next to impossible to conjure fire with one's mind. But not for a fire fairy like me.

            As I looked into the fire, a strange thing happened. I could almost perceive an image in it: a face. A teenage boy's handsome face.

            I leaned back and shook my head quickly, and the image disappeared. What _was _that? I hadn't even been scrying for anything. Shivers went through me as I wondered if it had anything to do with my ghost.

            "Are you okay?" Rusty asked, looking at me with concern.

            I blinked and shook my head again. "I'm fine. I just thought I saw something. But I guess my eyes are playing tricks on me or something." Rusty nodded slowly.

            "Come on," he said, taking my hand and leading me towards the front of the half-circle of people. Everyone started quieting down and looking at us. A pang of nervousness swept through me.

            Rusty didn't waste much time. "Most of you know why we're here tonight," he said. "With the exception of Moira." He looked down at me, and I looked right back at him. "Moira, we all sort of have something to ask you."

            I stared at him, wondering what I had gotten myself into. Was this why Mom had been so paranoid? Were they going to turn me into some bizarre offering for a freaky cult? My heart was pulsing.

            "Moira, would you teach us about Wicca?"

            My heart stopped, and an inner me fell over silently.

            Rusty looked at me, into my eyes, searching for any visible signs of emotion. I looked out at the other five people, sitting around the fire. Did they all really want to study Wicca? A wave of mixed emotions washed over me. I felt almost used; had they had only invited me to this party so I could teach them the Craft? On the other hand, it meant they were opening themselves up to things I believed in, accepting _me. Were they all playing a joke on me? Were they for real?_

            "…You guys want to study Wicca," I repeated. "All of you. Seriously." They all nodded, some of them voicing their positive responses. "Really?"

            "_Yes," _Arianna said emphatically. "Now will you teach us?" Jamie poked her, and she said, "What? It's like she has a hearing problem or something."

            "I heard you fine," I said, feeling irritated. "I just want to make sure you guys really want to do this. Wicca isn't just some fad. It's a serious religion, and of course you can get out of it if you decide it's not for you, but you have to be sincere in wanting to do it."

            "We've all thought about this," Rusty said quietly. I looked over at Claire, who gave me a hopeful smile. "We would really like to do this," Rusty continued, and his tone made me look up into his brown eyes again. "We want to form a coven. And we'd like you to lead it."

            I sat down on the ground, trying to comprehend this. _I live here for fourteen years being the oddball, and now six people want to form a coven with me?! I thought frantically. Then, I surprised even myself by saying, "Okay. I'll do it."_

            Rusty smiled really big, and the rest of the people shared relieved glances. "I did some research, and tonight's a Wiccan Sabbat, right?"

            I nodded. "Ostara. The vernal equinox." I got up and said, "There's seven other Sabbats, too: Samhain, Yule, Imbolc, Beltane, Litha, Lammas, and Mabon." I grinned and said, "Consider this your first lesson in Wicca. I'll start with Samhain, the witches' new year. It's on October thirty-first, and it's a day where Wiccans honor those who have passed before us."

            "So, when we celebrate Halloween," PJ said, "we've actually been celebrating a Wiccan holiday?"

            "Yes and no. While there are many elements of Halloween that have been borrowed from Wicca, like the colors orange and black and making jack-o-lanterns, they're two different holidays. You'll see that a lot of traditions in the non-Wiccan world originated out of Wicca. Yule is a great example—Yule logs, mistletoe, and the colors red and green are found both in Christmas and the Wiccan celebration of Yule. It's celebrated on the winter solstice and is a celebration of the rebirth of the God. Yule is a time of reflection and of letting go of the past.

            "Imbolc is February second, and it brings the awakening of the life forces of the earth," I continued. "Tonight, Ostara, is the celebration of the vernal equinox. It's a time where we seek inner balance. Beltane is on May first, and it's a time for celebrating fertility and romance. It's a good time to perform handfasting ceremonies."

            "Handfasting ceremonies?" Jamie repeated.

            "They're Wiccan weddings," I explained. "Litha is the midsummer festival, celebrated at the summer solstice, and it's a time of reflection. Lammas is the first harvest, on August first. And Mabon is the autumnal equinox, the harvest festival. So, there you have it: your first Wicca lesson."

            "And boy, was it boring," Arianna commented, and everyone, including me, started cracking up.

            "I'm sorry, did I sound like a walking textbook?" I asked, looking around at what could be my new coven.

            "It's okay," Rusty told me. "What I'd really like to do is one of those circles I've read about. They sound cool."

            I thought about it for a second, then said, "All right. We'll do a banishing circle." I don't know what made me think of doing a banishing circle; it just sort of popped into my head. I got up and located a long stick to draw a circle with in the dirt. Then, I remembered something, and asked, "Does anyone have any salt?"

            Everyone stared at me. "_Salt?"_

"I need it to purify the circle," I explained. "It's important."

            The others all looked at each other. Finally, Mike said, "I think I might have some in my car from McDonald's." We walked to his car, and came back with two tiny packets of salt. It would have to do; I had nothing else.

            I quickly drew a circle around the fire, leaving a space open. The others gathered inside my circle, and I closed it. "Wow," Claire said, looking at the circle I'd drawn. "It's…perfect."

            I shrugged. "It comes with practice, I guess." I went around, sprinkling what little salt I had around the circle. "With this salt, I purify my circle." I pocketed the empty packets, then said, "Okay, everyone hold hands." I ended up being between Claire and Rusty. I swallowed hard, hoping that they wouldn't decide this was all stupid once I got it all started. But somehow, I felt like I wasn't really leading it; something else sort of took over. Maybe it was my inner leader.

            I raised my two hands, clasping Claire's and Rusty's, and said, "Thanks to the Goddess." I looked back at the others, and said, "Now you say it." They repeated me, sounding a little skeptical.

            "It is the vernal equinox," I said, pushing my voice so it sounded a little stronger than I actually felt. "The Goddess will blanket the earth in rich green fertility. It is a time to connect with nature." I looked around the circle. "Now you say 'Blessed Be'."

            "Blessed Be," we said together.

            "It is a time for rebirth. A time for new beginnings." I waited a beat. "Say 'Blessed Be' again."

            They did so.

            "We give thanks to the Goddess for blessing us with fertile soil." All I had to do was nod this time, and we all chorused, "Blessed Be."

            "Let us breathe." I began to take slow, deep breaths. Soon, all our breaths were synchronized, as if we were one pair of lungs. After a few minutes, I opened my eyes and said, "We're doing a banishing circle, so we'll move counterclockwise—widdershins in Wicca-speak." I pressed against Rusty a little bit, and soon we were going around in a circle, gradually picking up speed. I began a chant:

_Blessed be the Mother of All Things,_

_The Goddess of Life._

_Blessed be the Father of All Things,_

_The God of Life._

_Thanks be for all we have._

_Thanks be for our new lives._

_Blessed be._

            I repeated it over and over, and soon the others joined in. By now the faces were blurring as we flew along in our unerring path around the fire. _Firelight, my soul is bright, _I thought to myself; a little rhyme my mother often whispered to me.

            "Claire," I yelled, trying to look my new friend in the eyes. "What feeling or idea would you banish, if you could? Any negative thing in the world, pick anything!"

            Claire looked alive, her pale blonde blue-streaked hair flying all over. "I banish hatred!" she shouted into the night sky.

            "Jamie?" I prompted.

            "I banish ignorance," she offered, and they all went around in the circle.

            Mike. "I banish loss!"

            Arianna. "I banish stubbornness!"

            PJ. "I banish anger!"

            Rusty. "I banish fear!"

            Then it was my turn. "_I banish loneliness!" _I shouted, barely even thinking about the words before they left my lips. We all then threw our hands up into the air, releasing the energy we had created. I looked into the fire and screamed.

            I could see a man, standing within the flames. His eyes looked directly at me, almost through me. I stumbled to the ground, and closed my eyes. _Goddess, save me…_


	6. chapter six: fear

**Shadow Girl**

**Book One: Who I Am**

[Chapter Six: Fear]

      I crumpled on the ground, covering my head with my arms, my whole body trembling with fear. _Goddess, save me, I thought again, with more urgency than the first time. A feeling of weightlessness came over me, and suddenly I landed hard on…_

            …A mattress?

            I opened my eyes, and nearly screamed again when I found myself in my own bedroom. Usually I am not a screamer. My voice gets caught in my throat and the most I'll get is a weird squeak. But seeing that man in the fire, the way he looked through me, had freed my voice. I could still feel that scream reverberating in my ears. I shook uncontrollably.

            I got up carefully. Had I been dreaming? I looked down at my sneakers: grass stains. And ashes from the fire. It wasn't a dream.

            That gave me another worry: How was I going to get back to the circle? I've only teleported myself once before, and that was when I was six and scared to death of an axe-wielding madman inside a haunted house. This strange power of mine was clearly triggered by fear. So how was I supposed to get myself back?

            I was suddenly hit with these strong vibrations of…love. Passion.

            Coming from my parents' _room. And now I heard noises, and I nearly gagged._

            "Oh, Hunter…"

            _Oh GOD!_

I jumped on my bed, thinking, _Get me out of here, get me out of here! If this wasn't motivation to leave, I didn't know what was. I buried my head in my hands, frantically screaming in my head, _Get me out of here, GET ME THE HELL OUT. _I felt the weightlessness again, the floating between time and space, and this time the landing wasn't nearly as soft._

            I opened my eyes, and saw six pairs of eyes staring back. "Whoa," PJ said. "You were like…gone."

            "You screamed," Claire remembered, dropping to her knees next to me. "What happened?"

            I sat up, staring into the fire. The man was gone, and now the flames danced before my eyes in their infinite beauty. "I…my eyes were playing tricks on me again. I thought I saw something, and it really freaked me out." I rubbed my head, curling forward and resting against my knees. "I have this weird ability to…transport myself from place to place, if I get really scared, like I did just now." I slapped the ground with my hands, feeling frustrated. "Now you're all probably scared of Wicca, aren't you?"

            "No, we're not," Rusty said quietly, kneeling down next to me and rubbing my back. My eyes immediately flicked to his, and he said, "We're just concerned about how you're feeling. Are you sure you're okay?"

            I nodded slowly, looking away from him. "I think I'd like to go home now," I said, and Claire and Jamie helped me up and we walked to their car. I lay down in the backseat, curling up in a fetal position. The car vibrated as the motor came to life, and we pulled onto the road.

            I lay there, thinking about what I'd seen. Who _was that man? Judging by the image of his face, he'd been about eighteen. Then, I wondered if that even had been a person at all. What if it was a taibhs, a dark spirit? I felt sick to my stomach, thinking about that. I'd never seen a taibhs before, so it was entirely possible that that was what it was. What if the thing haunting me was that taibhs? Incoherent thoughts whirled inside my brain, and I began tracing runes and other signs of protection all around me. Pentacles. Intersecting circles of protection. The angular runic _p _for comfort. I lay with my hands on my face, breathing slowly._

            Claire touched my leg gently. "Moira, you're home," she whispered gently. 

            I got up slowly, thanking  Jamie for the ride home. "I'm sorry for my freak-out," I mumbled, shutting the door.

            "It's okay," Jamie replied. "We all had a good time." I wrapped my arms around myself, walking to the front door. I sent out some strong vibrations so my parents could stop whatever sordid activities they'd found themselves in. I quickly unlocked the door and hurried up the stairs to my bedroom. Once inside my room, I put on my pajamas and curled up under my covers. I drifted away into an uneasy sleep.

*  *  *

            My eyes fluttered open sleepily, and I got a shock when I rolled over and saw the clock reading 12:43 PM. My head felt stuffy. I felt sick from everything that I'd seen last night.

            There was a knock on my door, and my mom entered my room. "Hey, sleepy-head," she greeted me quietly, smiling.

            _Oh, don't you smile at me like that, _I thought. _I know what you and Daddy did last night. _

Mom walked over and sat on my bed. "So, how was the party?"

            "It was okay," I said, my eyes closed. "I'm really tired, though."

            "What time did you get home?" she asked, concern in her hazel eyes.

            I forced myself to sit up a little. "I dunno." I rubbed my left eye with the heel of my hand.

            Mom patted my knee. "I'll make you some breakfast. Or is it lunch? Whatever, I'll make you something to eat." And with that she left my room.

            I stretched and yawned, and rubbed my eyes a little more. My hair was a mess, I felt like crap, and I thought I'd seen a taibhs. Not the best way to start the day.

            I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, then tried to drag a brush through my dark hair. Soon it looked reasonable, and I padded down to the kitchen. Mom fed me scrambled eggs and Diet Coke, and after that I lay around, watching television.

            The phone rang, and this time I could tell who it was: Claire. I picked up the cordless and said, "Hi, Claire."

            There was a pause on the other line. "Tell me you have Caller ID."

            I grinned. "I love being a witch."

            "That's just freaky," laughed Claire. I laughed too. "So, I just called to ask if you're feeling any better."

            "I just woke up; does that tell you anything?" I asked her, smiling a little. I walked up the stairs to my bedroom.

            "Wow. You must feel horrible," she said sympathetically. I nodded, though she couldn't see me, and sat down on my bed, leaning against the pillows. Claire paused for a moment, then said, "I want to know what happened last night."

            "What do you mean?" I asked, feeling nervous. _Oh, no, I thought. __Claire, if you want your room intact, don't ask about the Ghost._

"Moira, get real. No one gets so scared that she whisks herself away without a trace because her eyes played tricks on her," Claire reasoned. "And I saw what happened last week, at the assembly. What really happened last night?"

            I sighed. How do you tell your first real friend that you're being stalked by a ghost? Finally, I said, "Okay, you have to promise me some things."

            "Like what?"

            "Like, you can't get scared off from Wicca. This kind of thing doesn't happen, usually."

            "What kind of thing?" Claire persisted.

            "Okay, second thing: Do you have a helmet?"

            "What?!"

            "I'm serious. Every time I try telling someone about this, something really bad happens. I tried telling my Aunt Bree, and my shelf fell down. I tried telling my mom, and we nearly got killed in a car accident."

            "Oh my God, Moira!"

            "Are you getting the helmet?"

            "No. I'll take my chances. Now tell me." I took a deep breath, and told her everything. About hearing the voice in my own circle, the message at the assembly, what happened at the math class, Aunt Bree, her tarot reading, and the car accident. I told her about dinner with my grandparents, and finally, the face I'd seen in the flames. "And when we threw our hands up at the end of the banishing, I saw his whole body. He was just standing there, looking at me, no, more like _through _me. And that's what made me scream and blink out."

            "Whoa…" Claire whispered. There was a pause, then she said, "Well, nothing happened."

            "What?"

            "Nothing happened," she repeated. "No catastrophes, nothing. I'm fine."

            "I don't get it!" I said in exasperation. "Every time I try to tell my parents or anyone else, something happens! Something always happens!"

            "Hmm…" Claire thought for a minute. Then she said, "Your Aunt Bree, she's your mother's sister?"

            "Actually, no," I said. "Mom's best friend."

            "How long have your mom and Bree known each other?" she asked.

            I shrugged. "I dunno. Forever?"

            "Forever," Claire repeated. "What about your dad? When did your parents meet?"

            "When she was seventeen, what are you getting at, Claire?"

            "Your tarot reading said that secrets were being hid from you," Claire said. "I think it's obvious by now that your parents—Maybe even your aunt Bree—are hiding something." She spoke with this Yoda-like wisdom. "What I'm saying is, what if the thing that's haunting you is part of that secret? What if your parents know how to strike it down if they knew what it was? Then the thing wouldn't want you to tell them anything. Therefore, he created distractions, warnings, to keep you from leaking his secret."

            "Claire, you're a genius."

            "Thank you; I know." I told her that I had to think about this new information, and we hung up. _Secrets, huh? _I wondered, tapping the phone against my lips. _What are you hiding from me, Morgan and Hunter?_

That's when I realized I didn't know how Mom found out about Wicca.

*  *  *

            Dinner was tense for me. I wanted to lash out at my parents, yell, _Tell me your secret! How did Mom find out she was a blood witch? _I couldn't believe I hadn't questioned it sooner. When you're brought up by two strict Catholic parents, you don't just suddenly start practicing witchcraft. I wanted to slam down my fork, stand up, and make a speech that would blow them away. But I was afraid of what The Ghost would do. The last time, he'd almost killed my mother and I.

            "So, tell us more about the party," my dad told me, smiling brightly.

            "It was interesting," I told them. I paused a moment, then dropped the bomb. "They want to know more about Wicca."

            My parents stopped eating, surprised looks on their faces. "Really," Mom stated, looking at me.

            "Yeah." I nibbled at my oriental chicken. "They want to start a coven with me, and I know I have to be initiated to be a coven leader, so…can I be initiated soon?"

            "Well, of course," Dad said, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "Oh, this is brilliant, Moira. Tell me, have you thought of a name for your coven?"

            "Cirrus."

            That one word caused my mother to gasp and drop her fork and knife. She and Dad stared at me, and honestly, I felt like staring at myself. Where'd I come up with _that? _The word had just sprung to my mind. Sort of like when I'd banished loneliness. I hadn't really thought about that, either.

            "What?" Mom breathed, looking the way she did when the plates started shaking during dinner with Grandma and Grandpa Rowlands. _She's acting so weird, I thought._

            I shrugged. "I dunno. Cirrus, it just popped into my head. I dunno why."

            Dad leaned in towards me. "Tell me honestly, Moira. Where'd you get the idea to call your coven Cirrus?"

            "I don't _know, _okay?!" I yelled, standing up. "Will you two stop acting so cryptic? I know you're hiding something from me, and I'm gonna find out what your secret is!" I stormed up to my room, slammed the door shut, and spelled it closed. I lay on my bed, fuming. _How could you, Mom? After all you've been through, how could you keep secrets from me? _I cried myself to sleep that night.

*  *  *

            Later that night, I heard noises in my room. Someone was in there with me. My eyes snapped open, and I tried to look around without moving. I suddenly saw the glint of a blade near my window.

            I immediately leapt up in my bed, grabbing the heavy metal flashlight I'd stashed under my bed and snapping my bedside light on. I made this yelling noise, raising the flashlight in a threatening way.

            "Moira, Moira, good God!" I stopped when I saw my father standing near my window, his athame in hand. "What in the world are you doing?"

            "What are _you _doing?" I fired back. "Geez, you scared me!"

            My dad turned back to my window sill. "I'm looking for sigils."

            "What?"

            "Sigils. Bespelled runes--"

            "I _know _what sigils are, Dad," I said irritably. "What I meant is, why are you looking for them?"

            He sighed. "Your mother found some on the window sill in our bedroom. Sigils for great loss. Devastation. Despair."

            I gaped. "Goddess…" I whispered. "Where's Mom?"

            "She's downstairs," he told me. "Why don't you go down there and keep her company?" I nodded and jumped off my bed, walking downstairs.

            My mother looked horrible when I found her. The tea cup was shaking in her hands, and her eyes stared straight forward, seeing nothing. "Mom?" I whispered.

            Her head turned, and she sighed and put down her cup. "Hey, sweetie." Dagda leapt up onto her lap, and she pet him absently. I went to her and she embraced me, burying her face in my shoulder. "Goddess, I don't know what we're going to do," she began to cry, shaking.

            "Mom, we are going to be _fine." I pushed her away from me and looked into her eyes. "Nothing is going to happen to us. Whatever's happing it's going to stop."_

            I rambled on a little more, still holding eye contact with Mom. But suddenly, her face went white. "Hunter…" she whispered. She shoved me away abruptly,  and ran up the stairs, screaming, "Hunter!"

            I stared after my mom. _What the hell was that? I wondered angrily. But suddenly, I saw my reflection in a mirror on the refrigerator. _

            My eyes were _gold. _I gasped and shook my head, blinking hard. They returned to their normal hazel color. I stared into the mirror, touching my face. What was happening to me?

            _Run, witch, run._

I turned, and headed for the front door, grabbing my jacket on the way. Once I got outside, I ran blindly, even though the pavement was painful for my bare feet, even though it was in the middle of the night and I had no clue where I was going. I had to run, away from my family, away from whatever was haunting me. I needed it to stop.


	7. chapter seven: full circle

**Shadow Girl**

**Book One: Who I Am**

****

[Chapter Seven: Full Circle]

      I ran for what seemed like hours, with no real destination in mind. I finally stopped, gasping for breath, and realized I was near Tower's Market. I had never ran so far before. I leaned against a wall, in an alley made by two buildings. I started to cry again, and I slid down into a sitting position.

            _Stop it, _I told myself. _Do not cry. Crying won't help anything. _I wiped my tears with the rough sleeves of my denim jacket. Think, Moira, think. I looked around. There were a few metal garbage cans, assorted trash, and probably rats. What I really needed was a candle, or something I could light a fire with. I walked over to one of the garbage cans and yanked the cover off, reeling back for fear of bad smells. But when I looked in it, I could mostly just see paper. I cast my senses into the can, checking for anything that might cause an explosion. When I was sure that it was safe, I kindled a fire in the metal can, and it grew pretty large. I stared into the fire, letting all my thoughts fall away. I was going to scry.

            I closed my eyes, then opened them again, and the flames now reflected my image. _What information do you seek, my child? _I heard the fire's words inside my head.

            _What is my mother hiding? _I asked it silently. _What is my mother's secret, and why is she so frightened now?_

My own image within the flames faded, and in its place I saw a thin, dark-haired girl. She was standing in snow, and I could see tombstones in the background. The girl in the image looked almost exactly like me, but I felt the identity of the girl: Morgan Rowlands. My mom.

            Morgan had a look of terror on her face, and suddenly she turned and ran. I saw her reach her car, but then someone came up behind her and practically ripped the car door off its hinges, shoving Morgan inside. Mom tried to get out on  the other side, but a hand reached up and squeezed the back of her neck, and she slumped down, helpless: a binding spell. I blinked, and a new image was shown: My mother's lips were moving, and I could feel the words of the Riordan power chant: _An di allaigh, an di aigh…An di allaigh an di ne ullah… I blinked again, and I saw a pentacle necklace falling from her hand, onto the floor._

            A new image came, of Morgan and the man who had spelled her, walking towards a house. Suddenly my mother shoved him hard, and shot a crackling blue ball of witch fire at him. He fell to his knees, and Mom ran, only to be struck down by another spell. He squeezed her neck again, and she collapsed, lifeless.

            I closed my eyes again, and when I reopened them my mother was in a dark room, and I could feel a strong, evil presence. My mother's face was tear-streaked, and she sat cross-legged, tracing symbols all around her. Smoke was filling the room, I realized, and my mother banged on the door. _Cal, _I could feel her screaming. _Cal._

Images of flames began to dance around the edges of my vision. My mother collapsed, coughing, crying. She curled up, prepared to die. I saw a pair of eyes, golden in color, just as mine had been earlier.

            I slammed the cover onto the garbage can, breathing hard. I let go of the cover handle and backed away slowly. I had watched as someone attempted to kill my mother. She couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen. _How could you keep that from me? _I asked her, tears now streaking my face again. _How could you pretend that it never happened? I felt like a whole chapter of my mother's life was omitted from my knowledge, and I wondered what else my parents had decide to sugar-coat for me._

            _Moira. _I screamed as I heard The Ghost's voice in my head again. I was willing to bet my life that this man contacting me was the one who had tried to kill my mother. _Moira. Follow me. Come to me._

I began running again, with the voice guiding me. If I was going to defeat him one and for all, I was going to have to see him, face-to-face.

*  *  *

            I found myself in the field where the party had been, stopping at Rusty's fire circle. Almost immediately, strange, ancient Gaelic words came to my mind. Just like the coven name Cirrus had. Just like when I banished loneliness. An icy nausea gripped me as I wondered if this person had been controlling my mind.

            _Say it, _The voice demanded. _Say the chant. Do it!_

"No," I whispered, and suddenly a pain rushed to my stomach. _Do it now, Moira, _he yelled, and I let myself begin to chant. The words sounded dark and ugly, and I tried not to think about what might happen next. I stared at the fire circle, where only ashes remained. The ashes seemed to fade away, and a dark hole was visible. Something began to slither up from the hole, and I nearly stopped the chant. Soon, I could see a man standing in front of me, the same man that had stood in the flames during my circle. I stopped chanting and backed away.

            He had golden eyes, just like the guy in my scrying vision. Cal, I thought, remembering his name. He gave me a strange smile, and said, "Well done, Moira. You're very powerful."

            _Damn straight, _I thought. I stared back at him, not speaking.

            "Well, is that how you treat me?" Cal asked, tilting his head a bit to the right. "You give me the silent treatment, after I helped you with your circle?"

            "What?" I breathed. 

            "Oh, please. You have your mother's shyness and your father's boredom. If I hadn't done something those six would never stay interested in Wicca."

            "You've been controlling my mind," I accused. "You tried to kill my mother when she was seventeen."

            "No," he said sternly. "I did _not try to kill Morgan. I was trying to protect her."_

            _"How could you call putting her in a burning building 'protecting her'?!" _I screamed. "Are you _completely delusional?!"_

            Cal's arm flew up, threatening to strike me. When I flinched, he put his arm down, saying, "You're a stupid naïve little girl. Just like your mother was." He paused, looking at me carefully. "You have so much of your mother in you. You look exactly like her." And then he said something that completely threw me:

            "You should have been my daughter."

            "_What?!" _I yelled, stepping away from him. "You're _crazy. _Why the hell would you think that I should be your daughter?"

            "Because your mother and I were meant to be together," he thundered. "I loved her, but she had to go and act like she knew everything. She thought she knew more than me. She barely even knew who she was! Morgan Rowlands was so wrapped up in her own stupid beliefs that she didn't see how I loved her! _I died for Morgan."_

I stared at him. "What do you mean, you died for her?"

            "My mother was the one who wanted her power, the Belwicket power, at any cost. She meant to kill Morgan when I died." Fury filled Cal's gold tiger eyes. "But did Morgan appreciate what I gave for her? No! She went and got married and had a child with my good-for-nothing Seeker _brother."_

_            "WAIT, HOLD EVERYTHING," _I screamed. I held my head in my hands, feeling like it was going to explode, due to an information overload. "What you're saying, is that my dad, is your brother. Which would make you my _uncle?" _He nodded, and I felt queasy. "And you want my mother. My uncle wants my mother. My _dead _uncle wants my mother." I felt like sitting down and crying. Why couldn't I just have a _normal life?_

            "If you're dead," I said carefully, "then how could you do all those things you did? How did you make my shelf fall? How did you cause my mom's car accident?"

            "I've been biding my time," he answered. "I've prevented my spirit from evolving to the next life, and I've gathered what power I could. I've had twenty years, Moira, and that has made me strong." He looked into my eyes. "But I'm still not strong enough."

            "For what?" I asked, an edge in my voice.

            "I have unfinished business here. I need my strength to set things right. And that's where you come in." Cal smiled at me, and I scowled back. "Moira, I know you don't like your power. I know you want to be normal, like everyone else. You possess something I want, that you don't want. We can help each other."

            "No," I said, through my clenched teeth. "No way in hell. I will _not _let help you hurt my parents." I sent my mother a witch message then: _Mom, help me. I'm in the field where the party was. Cal is here. He wants to hurt me. Please come quickly._

            Cal frowned. "Moira, you may possess great power, but you're no match for me. Either you cooperate or I force you to give up your magick, and the latter will be very painful."

            "I said _no, _damnit!" I yelled. My arm snapped out and I sent a crackling blue ball of witch fire at him. Cal held out his hand and the witch fire seemed to be absorbed by his hand, without any affect. I stared, fear overcoming me.

            He smiled wickedly. "You just gave me some of your magick. You're virtually powerless against me. Now kneel down and let me do the rest."

            "No!" I yelled, backing away.

            "Moira, do it!" Cal screamed.

            "MAKE ME."

            I heard tires squealing behind me, and I turned to see Mom driving Das Boot wildly onto the field. Dad was in the passenger seat, looking very afraid and yet very pissed off. Mom skidded to a halt, and they both jumped out of the car and began sprinting towards me.

            "Mom!" I yelled, running towards her. But I was stopped by something slamming me in the back.

            I was paralyzed with pain, and I slowly dropped to my knees and slumped on the ground. I heard my mother scream my name. I rolled over to see that a white streak of light was connecting Cal and I. And that's when I realized, he didn't want to just take my power. He didn't need my power.

            He wanted to take my life. That had been his plan all along.

            I felt my magick being slowly sucked away from me. I closed my eyes, unable to see or hear anything that my parents and Cal were doing. I was left with my incoherent thoughts.

            _I can't believe I'm going to die now, _I thought. _I was just starting to make some friends. And now I'm being killed by…what, my uncle? _I sighed; if I could just live long enough to sell my life story to the Warner Brothers company. They'd make an angsty teen drama series, and I'd make millions.

            _I've never had a boyfriend, _I thought, then realized that I didn't care that much. _I never graduated high school. I never made it past ninth grade. I never proved to my grandparents that I'm not the spawn of all evil._

Suddenly I heard my mother's voice. "You're stronger than this, Moira," she told me. "You've got thousands of years of Riordan blood in your veins. You can save yourself. You can stop Cal Blaire. You are my daughter, and you can survive this." Her hands gripped my arm, and I felt her tears on my face. I opened my eyes, and directly into her hazel eyes. I remembered the scared teenager that had nearly burned to death. Mom began to sing the power chant. _"An di allaigh an di aigh…An di allaigh an di ne ullah…An di ullah be nith rah…Cair di na ullah nith rah…Cair feal ti theo nith rah…An di allaigh an di aigh…"_

I began chanting with her, and soon I could feel my magick restoring itself. I lifted my head successfully, and I could see that the light binding Cal and I had been diminished. Mom helped me up, and together we faced Cal.

            "Move away from her, Morgan," Cal growled. "I said, move away!"

            But Mom and I had other plans. Almost as if we could read each other's minds, we held hands and began a spell:

_Magick, we are your daughters_

_We are following your path in truth and righteousness_

_Protect us from evil. Help us be strong._

_Maeve, who came before us, help us be strong_

_Mackenna, who came before her, help us be strong._

_Morwen, who came before her, help us be strong._

_Let us banish this evil. Banish this evil._

"No!" Cal screamed.

            "Banish this evil!" we answered him, and a strong wind kicked up, blowing our raven hair around us. Cal screamed again, and he sank back into the hole from which he came. The wind died down, and Mom and I tried to regain some of our composure.

            "Well, that was an adventure," I said weakly, and I promptly fainted.

*  *  *

            About fifteen minutes later, I was conscious and being smothered by Mom in the backseat of her car. And even though I've never been a cuddly type of person, I was perfectly content with my mother squeezing the life out of me. I had cheated death that night, and I never had felt so lucky. Or so crappy, for that matter.

            My dad walked back to the car from examining the fire circle, and opened the back car door. "It's what I suspected," he told us. "A bith dearc."

            "A what?" I asked.

            "A bith dearc," he repeated. "An opening to the netherworld. It severely affects witches who use them, so you'll probably feel horrible for the next few days." Dad looked at me quizzically. "How did you know how to open the bith dearc, Moira?"

            "I think Cal was controlling my mind somehow," I told him, and Mom tightened her grip on me even more. "These weird words came to mind, and I started saying them. He did that with the Cirrus thing, too—and I want to know what the deal with Cirrus is."

            "Cirrus was the coven that Cal led," Mom told me. "I was a part of Cirrus until he died."

            "And the field paranoia?"

            "It's where he held the first circle I ever went to. It woke up who I truly was inside."

            "Cal told you that you were a blood witch," I stated, rather than asked. She nodded, and I said, "And he tried to kill you." Another nod. "How the hell could you have kept this from me?"

            "Well, Moira, it never really came up," Dad explained to me. "It didn't seem important, because Cal was dead, and your mother believed that he would truly never hurt her."

            I looked into Mom's eyes. "Were you ever in love with Cal?"

            My mother sighed. "I thought I was once. But it was only part of Cal's mother's plan to take advantage of my power. The thing she didn't count on was Cal falling for me." My dad bristled beside me; he must have been jealous.

            I sat back, taking it all in. "Cal is truly evil, isn't he?"

            "Cal…is his mother's creation," Dad told me. "You can't completely blame Cal for who he became. He was raised by Selene Belltower, and she was purely evil. My father was also Cal's father, and he blames himself for how Cal turned out, because he didn't take Cal with him when he left Selene. But I doubt that he could have taken Cal away from his mother."

            "Cal's mother disillusioned his view of reality," Mom continued. "He didn't know of dark and bright magick, only power. He couldn't see the difference because no one had ever taught him any better." She tilted her head to the side, and said, "Now, tell me something: Was this part of what you wanted to tell Aunt Bree?"

            So I launched into that whole story, telling her about the voice and what had been happening, and in the end we all hugged and promised not to keep secrets from each other anymore. The next day I slept the whole day, and by Tuesday I felt like my regular old self. And I no longer wanted to renounce my magick. I finally accepted who I am.

*  *  *

            The next Saturday, I was initiated. We held the circle in the field where Mom and I had defeated Cal, after Dad had destroyed the bith dearc. There was a big bonfire, and I wore my mother's dark green robe, which once belonged to my grandmother. A flower crown rested on my dark hair, and the firelight illuminated my eyes. My mother stood opposite me, smiling broadly. "Moira Riordan-Niall, I now pronounce you an initiated witch of Kithic," she said, handing me a box. It held the Belwicket tools, tools of witchcraft handed down from generation to generation of Riordan witches.

            My initiation wasn't the only event of the evening. My new friends were there, and we were going to form a new coven, in the presence of my parents and their coven mates. I cast a circle and we filled it.

            "Tonight we gather to form a new coven," I said with authority. I didn't need Cal to help me feel strong. "We gather to celebrate the Goddess and the God, to celebrate nature, to explore and create and worship magick, and to explore the magickal powers both within and without ourselves."

            "Blessed be," they said. Claire grinned at me. Rusty's eyes never left my face.

            "Anyone who wishes not to be of this coven, please break the circle now." When no one moved, I said, "Welcome. Merry meet and blessed be. As we gather so we'll be. The seven of us have found our haven, here within the Stellaluna Coven." I only had a rough idea of what _Stellaluna meant—it had something to do with the moon and stars. It sounded pretty, anyway, and it wasn't Cirrus. The rest of the night was a great celebration, lasting until it was nearly dawn._

            Even later that night, I sat in my own little circle in my room, with a candle in front of me. I lit it and concentrated. When I was in perfect focus, I asked it to show me my mother's past. _Everything, I told it. _I want to know everything.__

The first image I saw was of my grandmother, Maeve Riordan. She was laying in a big bed, sunlight streaming in from the windows. In her arms was a tiny baby with dark hair. I smiled at how Maeve held my mother in her arms with such love in her eyes.

            Next, I saw a man dressed in a suit handing a still-infant Mom to Grandma and Grandpa Rowlands. Grandma's face lit up as she gazed at Morgan, and I felt the real, true motherly love that radiated from her. I saw swatches of Morgan's young childhood: Her and Bree, various elementary school occasions. It felt weird when I saw her First Communion ceremony, held at a Catholic church. Her life seemed so normal, as I went through the years.

            When I began seeing visions of her junior year in high school, Wicca entered Morgan's life. I saw Cal, how in my mother's eyes he was a god. I saw how she reacted strongly at the first circles. I was surprised to see Morgan and Bree fighting, about Cal. I saw the scene where Mom realized she was adopted, felt the pain of my mother and Grandma and Grandpa.

            I saw my dad, and the confrontations he'd had with Mom and Cal. There was one very disturbing scene involving an athame being hurled into Dad's neck, but I just shuddered and went on. I saw the night Cal died, how his mother had thrown a dark spell at my mother and Cal intercepted it. There were some scenes that I didn't understand: Mom lying on a table with masked witches surrounding her, wolves tracking their prey. I saw Mom and Dad at the power sink in town, near the Methodist graveyard, with an older man and another girl. They seemed very relieved about something, though I don't know what. I decided that I'd ask my parents about it later, now that we weren't keeping secrets from each other.

            The last image I saw was of my mom in her bed. There were tears and sweat dripping from her face, and my father was at her side. Morgan seemed to be hyperventilating. Then, I felt a baby's cry, and my mother's face broke into a smile that could have lit up a dark cave. A woman handed Mom a carefully wrapped bundle, and she cradled it in her arms, with Dad looking over her shoulder, beaming. _My perfect baby, _I felt my mother saying.

            Me.

**[Author's Note]**

And so ends Shadow Girl:: Book One: Who I Am. I hope everyone enjoyed it! Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, you people rock! As the "Book One" part of the title implies, there is a Book Two coming (and a Book Three and a Book Four ^^). I won't be starting Book Two for about three weeks, however, due to summer camp. Book Two won't be as suspenseful as Book One, but I promise you, you won't be disappointed ^^ Later Days [(::Katie::)]


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